Ronald Ebenezer Scrooge Weasley
by iDohavealife
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Ron is shown the error of his ways by four ghosts. Will he learn his lesson before it is too late?
1. A Warning

This was written for Checkmated's Holiday Challenge 2004: "Christmas Past". It was originally written as a one-shot (as per the Challenge's rules), but I have divided it into five short chapters. The Challenge also specified that the fic be written in first person.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings, or situations from the Harry Potter books. Ideas from "A Christmas Carol", of course, come from the book by Charles Dickens.

A Warning

Christmas Eve.

I lay in my bed staring at the curtains which surrounded it, listening to the snores coming from my best friend, Harry Potter, who was asleep in his own bed nearby. The dormitory was otherwise empty, as all the other sixth-year Gryffindors had gone home for the holidays. As a matter of fact, for the past few days, all of Gryffindor Tower had been empty except for me, Harry, Hermione Granger, and my sister, Ginny. Mum and Dad wrote last month saying they wanted to visit my brother Charlie in Romania for Christmas; shortly thereafter, Hermione received a letter from her parents suggesting that she stay at Hogwarts for the holidays too, as they were busy at their office. I still think these were convenient excuses to make sure we, along with Harry, stayed at Hogwarts where we're safe.

I sighed and rolled over, pounding my pillow and trying to get comfortable. Hermione. For months after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, my main worry had been Harry's feelings over the death of his godfather, Sirius, and the safety of us all. Lately, though, a new worry had begun creeping into my thoughts. Hermione. And that git, Viktor Krum. She hadn't said much about him, but I'd seen all the letters she'd been getting (it was hard to mistake that bloody ugly owl of his). And then there were all the nights she sat and wrote long rolls of parchment, covering them with her hand when I tried to see what she was writing and telling me it was none of my business who she was writing to. Apparently things were getting more serious between them. I had begun to expect Krum himself to show up.

And then yesterday, his owl appeared at breakfast carrying not just a letter, but a package. Hermione started to stick it into her bag to open later, but Ginny was giggling like crazy (why do girls do that?!), telling her to open it, she wanted to see. So Hermione opened the package.

The bloody git had sent her a charm bracelet.

She and Ginny oohed and aahed about it for a while, then Hermione put it on. I saw her admiring it several times throughout the day, looking at the charms thoughtfully.

So I came up here to the dormitory, put away the gift I had bought for her, and got out her other gift, the one I had bought just in case I lost my nerve about giving her the present I saved for months to buy.

Christmas Eve. Hermione's real present still sat in my trunk, and the "just-in-case" gift was wrapped and under the tree in the common room.

I turned over again and pulled the covers up to my chin, starting to feel a little sleepy. In the distance, a clock began to strike midnight. All was quiet, then...

"Ronald Weasley," a voice breathed. It sounded like it was coming from just beside my bed.

"Who's that?" I whispered, sitting up.

"It is I, Mr. Weasley". Through the curtains drifted the ghost of the Bloody Baron.

"What do you want?" I asked angrily. "Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"

"I am here, Mr. Weasley, to warn you that you need to see the error of your ways. I, too, followed your path, and it lead to my ruin."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was once a young man, a student here at Hogwarts. I, too, held a young lady in esteem, but, uncertain of her feelings, I kept silent. I never told her how I felt, and shortly after we left Hogwarts, she married someone else. I sunk into the deepest depths of despair as I watched her in her new life, knowing that I would never be a part of it. My life was but an empty shell without her." He gestured to himself. "You may have wondered why I am so bloody. 'Tis my mark to carry throughout eternity. The blood of my heart, which was broken and never mended."

"What does this have to do with me?" I asked him, knowing the answer very well.

"You, too, will suffer this fate if you do nothing to change it. This night, you will be visited by three ghosts. Heed their warnings. Change your ways. Or else...." He drifted away through the curtains.

I watched for a moment to see if he would return, then I lay back down slowly, thinking of what he had said. Finally, I shook my head and pulled the blankets up over my head. Mental, that one. Crazy bloody Bloody Baron, I thought as I drifted off to sleep.

I didn't sleep long...


	2. Christmas Past

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings, or situations from the Harry Potter books. Ideas from "A Christmas Carol", of course, come from the book by Charles Dickens.

Christmas Past

I woke up to the sound of my bed curtains being pulled apart. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and looking around. There was a figure standing beside my bed, holding a lighted wand.

"Professor McGonagall? Is something wrong?" I asked, thinking immediately of the attack on my dad last year.

"I am not Professor McGonagall, Mr. Weasley. I am the ghost of Christmas Past. I have merely assumed the form of your Professor McGonagall. Suffice it to say you would find my true form most unpleasant."

"Okay, this joke has gone too far. Did Harry put you up to this? Or maybe Fred and George? Those two..."

"Silence, Mr. Weasley. You will come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. This is crazy. I'm staying right here..."

The ghost grabbed my arm, pulling me from my bed. "I said, you will come with me. Now, Ronald Bilius Weasley."

"Let me go, I'm not coming with..." I stopped struggling, surprised to find myself in the common room--a common room that was full of all the people I thought had gone home for the Christmas break. Seamus, Dean, Neville, and lots of others were there, all watching something that was happening behind me. I saw Harry come in through the portrait hole; he was also paying attention to whatever was going on behind me. I turned and saw...myself. And Hermione. We were angrily glaring at each other, standing only a few feet apart. Hermione looked like she was ready to kill me. Her face was red, and her hair was partly up on her head; the rest was falling around her face. I suddenly realized what I was seeing.

"Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?" screamed Hermione.

"Oh yeah?" I yelled back. "What's that?"

"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!" Hermione turned around and ran up the stairs to the girls' dormitory as I stood there speechless.

"You never knew what Hermione did after she ran up those stairs, did you?" I jumped at the sound of the voice; I had forgotten the ghost was still standing (floating?) next to me.

"No. I just know I was mad. I went upstairs and tore the arms off that stupid Krum figure I had bought." Arms that I had seen around Hermione at the ball, I thought.

"Then come." The ghost again took my arm, and I found myself in Hermione's dorm room. I had never been in here before, and I looked around, taking in the mess of things that apparently belonged to Lavender and Parvati, and the neatness surrounding what must be Hermione's bed. Suddenly the door slammed open, and Hermione hurried in. She turned and kicked the door shut as hard as she could. The only time I had seen her so angry was when she had slapped Malfoy for making fun of Hagrid. Then she turned back toward me, and I saw that she was crying. Actually, crying isn't the word. She was sobbing.

She stood for a moment, her hands over her eyes, then she walked to her bed and lay down, burying her face in her pillow. A few moments later, an ugly ginger cat jumped up on the bed and went to her, meowing.

Feeling the cat beside her, Hermione sat up and picked it up, looking into its face. "Oh, Crookshanks...why do I even care? I waited and waited for him to ask me. When Viktor invited me to the ball, what was I supposed to do?"

"Who is she talking about?" I whispered to the ghostly McGonagall. She shook her head and put her finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet and listen.

"Once in a while, it's nice to be noticed as a girl. Not that he ever will. To him, I'm just bossy know-it-all Hermione who helps him with his homework. Viktor has been so nice to me. I should be happy." Her face crumpled, and she started crying again. "But he's not Ron." She hugged Crookshanks to her, hiding her face in his fur.

"She's talking about me? She wanted me to ask her to the ball? But why?"

The ghost/McGonagall rolled her eyes. "You, Mr. Weasley, may be a hopeless case. Come along."

"Where?" But the ghost had again taken my arm, and I found myself in a room that looked familiar. After looking around for a moment, I realized it was the room Hermione shared with Ginny at Grimmauld Place.

"I'll be down in a minute, Ginny. I just want to finish opening my presents." Turning, I saw Hermione sitting on the floor surrounded by opened boxes and wrapping paper.

"Okay, but hurry. Fred and George will eat everything in sight, and there won't be any breakfast left," Ginny said as she went out the door, shutting it behind her.

Hermione started digging through the piles of paper, obviously looking for something. "Where is it?" she whispered. "Maybe he didn't get me anything." Finally she pulled out a small box which I recognized as the present I gave Hermione last Christmas.

Smiling, she tore the paper from the box, then opened it. Seeing the perfume, she stopped smiling. Great, I thought, she hated it. No wonder she didn't say much.

She lifted the perfume from the box and looked at it with surprise on her face. Then she grabbed the paper which she had thrown on the floor and checked the tag, apparently making sure it was for her and from me. She dropped the paper again and looked at the perfume, and I was upset to see tears in her eyes. She really didn't like it. It was stupid, stupid, Weasley, for you to give her that, I told myself. I was suddenly very glad I had decided not to give her the "real present" I had bought her this year.

After a moment, she wiped her eyes and her face lit up in that smile of hers that I love so much, the one that only appears when she is very, very happy. I was confused. How could she be crying one minute and happy the next? Did she like it or not?

Taking the top off the bottle, she smelled the perfume, then used the stopper to put some on her neck and behind her ears. She replaced the top and smiled again, hugging the bottle to her. She stood up and crossed to the dresser. She put the bottle of perfume carefully into a small box she kept there, then she wiped her eyes once more and went out the door, leaving all the other presents on the floor.

"I don't get it. Did she like it or not?" I asked the ghost/McGonagall.

"She liked it very much."

"But she didn't say much to me about it. She said it was unusual. That's all."

"She wasn't sure why you gave it to her. She wasn't sure of what you were trying to express. Do you remember what you said to her when she told you it was unusual?"

"I told her it was no problem."

"Yes, you did. She was hoping for a more demonstrative answer, perhaps an explanation of your feelings for her. You didn't give her that. I suggest, Mr. Weasley, that you learn to express yourself better."

"But why...?" But before I could finish my question, I found myself back in my bed, alone.

I looked around, but there was no sign of the ghost, or Professor McGonagall, or whatever that being had been. I settled back into my bed, thinking about what I had seen until I fell asleep.


	3. Christmas Present

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings, or situations from the Harry Potter books. Ideas from "A Christmas Carol", of course, come from the book by Charles Dickens.

Christmas Present

I was awakened by a hard nudge to my shoulder. I opened my eyes and sat up to lean on my elbows, then I groaned and flopped back down, closing my eyes. "Oh, no...not you."

"Yes, Mr. Weasley. Me. I am the ghost of Christmas Present," said Professor Snape.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "You're the ghost of a gift?"

He snorted. "No, Mr. Weasley," he sneered. "That's present as in the present time. Fifty points from Gryffindor for your stupidity."

"Hey, wait a minute. The other ghost said she only looked like McGonagall. You're not supposed to act like Professor Snape."

"Then the other ghost did not explain herself very well. Not only do we Christmas ghosts take on physical characteristics, we assume personality traits." He leaned ominously close. "Now...do you want to try for 100 points?"

"Sorry," I muttered, though I felt anything but. I sighed and sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "Okay. Where are we going?"

"It is not necessary to go anywhere at this moment. I merely want to talk to you about the present you have for Miss Granger."

"It's a book. I wrapped it and put it under the tree this afternoon. She always likes..."

"Not the present that is under the tree. I am referring to the present that is locked in your trunk."

"How do you know about that?"

"I know all, Mr. Weasley. It would serve you well to remember that."

I ran my hand through my hair. "I can't give her that present."

"Why not?"

"Because she has a boyfriend already. Viktor Krum. He sent her a present which she seems to love. And he probably paid a fortune for it. He can afford it. My gift would look pathetic now."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. What makes you think she is so enamored with the gift from this Viktor Krum? Or that he is her boyfriend? Has she told you this?"

"No. But you should have seen how she looked at that bracelet he sent her. And she writes him long letters."

"Ah. And you have seen the contents of these letters."

"Well, no. But why would she be writing to him if he's not her boyfriend?"

"You are unfamiliar, Mr. Weasley, with the concept of friendship?"

"No. But Krum sure acts like he wants to be more than friends."

"But you don't know if Miss Granger returns those feelings."

I couldn't answer him. Truthfully, I didn't know.

"I see. Come along, Mr. Weasley. I think you need to see something."

Like the first ghost, he took my arm, and I found myself standing once again in the girl's dormitory. The door opened, and Hermione came in, carrying the book she had been reading that night before going to bed. I realized I was seeing what had happened only a few hours earlier.

She crossed to her bed and opened her trunk, putting the book inside. Then she pulled out a small wooden box and took it to her dresser. Unclasping the bracelet from her wrist, she held it up and looked at it. She sighed and shook her head, then dropped the bracelet into the box. Then she smiled and pulled out a bottle, opened it and held it to her nose.

It was the now empty bottle of perfume I had given her last Christmas.

Hermione carefully replaced the stopper and gave the bottle a gentle stroke, then she tenderly put the bottle back into the box. She put the box back into her trunk, lifted out her night things and a towel, then left the room, presumably headed for the prefects' bathroom.

I turned to the ghost/Snape. "She kept the bottle from the perfume I bought her, even though it's empty. Why?"

"It would seem she cherished the gift and wanted to remember receiving it."

"She must cherish the bracelet Krum gave her, too. She put it in the same box."

"Then you did not notice the way she looked at it. She did not seem pleased with it."

"But why?"

"Perhaps she doesn't like the implications of such a gift. Perhaps she doesn't return the feelings such a gift represents, and she resents receiving it from Mr. Krum."

"You keep saying 'perhaps', yet earlier you said you know everything. Why can't you just tell me how she feels?"

"I do know everything, Mr. Weasley. I just choose not to share everything."

"That's just great. Thanks a lot. I..." But he was gone. And I was back in my room.

Sitting down on my bed, I thought about what I had just witnessed. Hermione really hadn't looked happy when she put the bracelet in the box. And she kept the bottle from the perfume I bought. What did this mean? Maybe Hermione was right--maybe I did have the emotional range of a teaspoon. I certainly didn't understand what was going on with her and Krum.

I settled back into the bed and waited for the next ghost, hoping it would be someone much more pleasant than Snape.


	4. Christmas Yet to Be

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings, or situations from the Harry Potter books. Ideas from "A Christmas Carol", of course, come from the book by Charles Dickens.

Christmas Yet-to-Be

I must have fallen asleep without realizing it because I awoke to a calm, assured voice.

"Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley, do wake up."

Opening my eyes, I saw Professor Dumbledore looking at me with a twinkle in his eyes. I sat up quickly.

"Yes, sir. I'm awake." I yawned. "Again."

"Then come, Mr. Weasley, we have much to see."

"You're the ghost of Christmas Future, right?"

"Well, actually, I'm called the ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Be, but yes, I am." He held out his arm graciously. "Take my arm, if you will."

"Where are we going?" I asked as I climbed out of bed.

"That is for you to see," he whispered as I took his arm.

I found myself standing on a lawn in front of a large house, all its windows bright from the lights inside. "Whose house is this?" I asked the ghost/Dumbledore, but he only motioned for me to follow him to the window.

The scene inside the house was of a happy home at Christmastime. There was a large Christmas tree with many presents under it. The house was beautiful, the furnishings obviously very expensive. As I watched, two children ran into the room and plopped down beside the tree, pulling presents toward them to open. The boy was very tall and dark, but the girl was small, with long bushy chestnut hair. She looked very familiar. Then their father came into the room, and I recognized him immediately. It was Viktor Krum. He stood by the door laughing at the sight of the children tearing into the wrapping paper, then turned and called to someone who was in the other room.

"Professor Dumbledore, who else is in there? Please...please, Professor...tell me it isn't Hermione. She didn't marry him, did she? That little girl...she looks like..."

Then I saw Hermione walk into the room, dressed in expensive-looking robes, her hair pulled into an elaborate bun. She was beautiful. She laughed along with Viktor (her husband...she actually married him) as he put his arm around her shoulders. The children kept opening presents until there were none left to open, then they ran to their parents and hugged them, thanking them for the gifts. A maid entered the room, apparently telling them that dinner was ready because they followed her into another room. I went to another window and saw them sitting down at a long table filled with sparkling china, candles and a ton of food. I watched for a moment, then turned away, unable to watch anymore.

"She married him. Hermione married Krum. And he's been able to give her everything. This house. Those clothes. She even has servants." I turned to the ghost, not even embarrassed for him to see the tears that I couldn't stop. "What could I ever give her? Nothing! She deserves everything, and he can give it to her. I can't. All I have to give is my heart, and that's not enough." I looked back through the window. "She looks so happy," I said, my heart breaking.

"Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Weasley. Come."

I looked once more at Hermione's face. She was looking at the children so lovingly. I turned away and took the ghost's arm.

Suddenly we were in a very dark, quiet place. I looked at the ghost questioningly, and he held up one finger, indicating for me to wait.

In a moment, I heard the loud crack of someone apparating, and turned to see Hermione standing among some trees. She lit her wand using "Lumos", then walked past us. I followed her. She was wearing the same robes I had seen her wearing at her Christmas dinner. It was apparently later the same night.

We were in a graveyard. Hermione walked slowly around the gravestones, apparently knowing the way very well. Soon she stopped and used her wand to light up a small grave marker.

The name on it was Ronald Bilius Weasley.

I turned to the ghost in terror, but he merely gave me one of Dumbledore's kind looks and again motioned for me to wait and listen.

Hermione sank down on the ground in front of the (my!) gravestone and began to cry, burying her face in her hands. After a few moments, she reached out and touched the name on the marker.

"Oh, Ron. Why? Why did you do this? I loved you so much. I still love you so much. I should have told you how I felt. But you never showed any interest in me other than friendship. I was so afraid you would laugh at me. I couldn't take that." She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "I should have never married Viktor. I love my children, but if only...if only they had been ours...yours and mine. Oh, Ron, I miss you so much..." she broke off, sobbing, covering her face with both hands again.

I turned to the ghost with desperation. "Does this have to be the future? Does it have to be like this? Can I change it?"

"The future is constantly changing, Mr. Weasley. Our future becomes what we make it."

"Then take me back. I have to change this." I turned back toward Hermione, my heart aching at seeing her in such pain. "I love her. I have to tell her."

The ghost smiled. "You are a wise man, Mr. Weasley." He held out his arm. "Come."

With one last look at Hermione, I grabbed his arm like a drowning man would grab a life ring.


	5. It's Not Too Late

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings, or situations from the Harry Potter books. Ideas from "A Christmas Carol", of course, come from the book by Charles Dickens.

Christmas Morning

I awoke to a shaft of sunlight coming through the window. Harry was still snoring, and a look at the clock told me it was very early in the morning. Dawn, in fact.

"It's not too late. It's not too late." I jumped out of bed and started to run down the stairs, intending to go to Hermione's dormitory and tell her how I felt, sliding staircase be damned. Suddenly remembering the present I had bought her, I turned around and tore open my trunk, grabbed it, and then ran down the stairs.

I reached the bottom of my staircase and ran toward hers, stopping on the first step. On second thought, if I tried to get up that sliding staircase, I might end up in the hospital wing. That wouldn't be very romantic. "Hermione!" I yelled up the stairs. "Hermione, wake up! Hermione!"

"What's wrong, Ron? I'm right here." Her voice came from behind me, and I turned around to find her sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, reading a book. She was looking at me like I had grown an extra head. Despite my nearly desperate need to tell her my feelings, the actual sight of her made me suddenly very nervous.

"Erm...nothing's wrong, Hermione." I crossed the room and sat down beside her. "I just wanted to give you your Christmas present, that's all." I held out the box to her. "Sorry it's not wrapped."

She looked at it suspiciously. "I thought your gift to me was under the tree. It looked like a book."

"That wasn't your real present. This is. Please...take it."

"Okay," she said, still looking at me strangely. She took the small black box and opened it on its hinges. "Oh, Ron," she breathed, seeing what was inside.

It was a ring. I had seen it in a shop during our first Hogsmeade weekend and had immediately known that I wanted to buy it for Hermione. It was a wide band, made with intertwining strands of gold and silver. It was both simple and intricate, both unadorned and beautiful; it was everything that I saw in Hermione. To me, the cost was a small fortune. It took me three months of doing odd jobs (dirty, smelly jobs) for Filch to earn the money to buy it. I had even sold items from Fred and George's joke shop on commission, hoping that Hermione wouldn't catch me.

Now she sat staring at the ring, still in the box, and I was worried to see tears in her eyes. But then again, she had cried when she saw the perfume...

"I saw it in Hogsmeade, and I thought of you. I wanted you to have it. If you don't like it, I can take it back. It's okay." I realized I was babbling, and I shut up.

She continued to stare at the ring for a while longer, then finally looked up at me just as the first tear ran down her cheek. "Ron...what does this mean?"

I took a deep breath and gathered my resolve. I had to do this. "It means," I started, my voice faltering. I cleared my throat and tried again. "It means...I love you, Hermione."

"You love me?" she whispered, looking like she didn't quite believe me. "Really?"

I swallowed hard, nodding. "I'm not nearly good enough for you, I know, but..."

She put her hand on my arm, silencing me. "Don't ever say that. Ever. Don't even think it." She looked back down at the ring and pulled it from the box. I was crushed to see her hold it out to me. I took it, silently cursing myself, and turned away.

"Ron." I turned back toward her. She was holding her hand out, palm down, her fingers extended. "Would you like to put it on me?"

Surprised, I could only nod. I took her hand in my left one, and with my right hand, slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

She studied it for a moment, allowing it to catch the firelight. "It's beautiful," she murmured.

"Like you."

She looked up from the ring to my face, then she suddenly hugged me tightly, hiding her face against my neck. I slid my arms around her waist, still not sure if she was going to tell me she was sorry that she didn't return my feelings or what was going to happen. It didn't matter that the ghosts had shown me how she felt; this was real, and my whole life depended on what Hermione would say in the next few minutes.

She stayed like that for quite a while, her breath tickling my neck. Finally, she sat up and looked at me, her eyes shining. Please...please, I thought. Whatever you do, don't say we can still be friends.

She ran her hand gently down my face, and let one finger trail across my lips. Then she leaned forward and softly kissed me, a lingering kiss which made it hard for me to breathe. She pulled away, looked into my eyes and said the four words I had waited to hear for so long.

"I love you, too."

Four simple, wonderful words that changed my whole life.

Happy Christmas!


End file.
